The Third Wheel
by bloodpoison13
Summary: Raven is the Third and adopted child of queen Sparrow. will she help Rose her sister become queen and become a legend along the way? or will she slowly slip into insanity.
1. CH 1 the Rebellion has begun

The Third Wheel 

CH. 1 the Rebellion has begun 

Hair straight and feather free; check. Breath absent of the telltale scent of liquor; check. Pants on and worn correctly; check, and not a single blood stain from the bar fight—kudos to me. So with a final sweep of the hall I step out of the shadows and strutted toward my room, nobody taking notice of the barely of age "delinquent" princess. However, this isn't surprising. "Madam Raven?"

My head snaps to the right to see none other than Jasper, looking extremely shocked. "Madam, what happened to your…well…?" Jasper doesn't finish his sentence instead points to my shirt.

Ever so slowly my eye trails down my body and I cringe at the giant ale stain. Note to self: check shirt too or at least bring a coat. Jasper sighs and says, "Come with me madam; your older sister has an extra shirt your size."

"Thanks Jasper, but you don't have to…"

"Nonsense; I was heading there anyway, and we don't want anyone to be aware of err…your…nightly activities...and madam, there's a leaf in your hair."

"Thanks Jasper. I tried to sneak back into the castle but the gates were locked, and I swear, those soldiers don't need sleep!"

Jasper chuckles; he's used to my odd humor by now. "And even if I did make it in, a maid would have found me and… well, you know how Logan gets."

"Yes your brother does tend to get perturbed at you leaving the castle."

"Jasper, that's the biggest understatement of the year and you know it."

At this Jasper chuckles again just as he opens the rather large doors to my sister's room. Her room is large, larger than mine anyhow, and in the corner was a used desk, and an unused dog bed. All her curtains are shut tightly, not letting an inch of sunlight get through, and Rose's blankets are wrapped tightly around her like a cocoon. "Jasper, is that water cold?"

"Ice cold, but why…?"

In an instant my hand snatches the water and pours it all over Rose. "__!" she squeals. Rose shoots up, hand going to her back, trying to remove the ice. Her border collie, Knight, jumps off the bed in a rush.

"Good morning sister," I say, an innocent smile on my face, as the water soaks into the bed.

Rose glares at me, brown eye meeting green, flushed peach skin meeting pale, and fine russet brown hair meeting—you guessed it—raven black.

"_Raven dear, can you come here?" _

"_Yes Mommy?"_

"_There is something I must tell you that is for your ears only."_

"_What is it Mommy? What do you have to say?"_

"_Raven my dear; I am not long for this world…"_

"_No, don't say that mommy!"_

"…_so before I do you need to know the truth," Mommy said, as if I hadn't spoken at all. _

"_Seven years ago, a young woman was with child and begged me to help her to raise this child as my own if she should perish…she didn't make it through the birthing."_

"_So why does that matter, Mommy?"_

"_That child was you." _

"_I don't care! You're still my mommy!"_

"Raven…hey; earth to Raven…you in there?"

"What? Oh, sorry, lost in thought, so, my lovely kind-hearted sister… how about you let me see one of your shirts?"

"I don't know…you did dump water on me."

"I'll love you forever."

"You'll love me forever no matter what I say."

"I'll help you with your boy toy."

"His name is Elliot!"

"So you two are together!"

"No that's not what I- what I mean is- balls," my sister swore, a tiny frown on her lips.

"I'll take this secret to my grave…as long as you let me borrow one of your shirts."

"Sister, you are evil."

"And you love me."

"On that note, if you follow me, perhaps we can find more appropriate clothing for today's activities. Master Elliot is most eager to speak to you this morning, and is waiting for you in the garden."

"My, my sister mannequins you really are a spoiled brat," I say with a playful smirk on my lips.

"I'm two years older than you, sister!"

"Yes…funny how that works out. And now that I have grabbed one of your shirts, I am going to go see Logan, tatty bye." Rose and Jasper both cringe at the reminding word, while I tilt my head back and laugh, strutting out of the room and, once hitting the hallway, sprint toward the war room.

Once reaching the large, wooden door I pause, wondering if Logan is in a bad mood. Then I decide that if he is, it is even more necessary for me to enter. So boldly reaching out, my small hand knocks lightly on the imposing door. A few seconds later a worn, but strict voice says "come in," and so happily I do. Logan is sitting in an overly large, comfy chair, his bony pale hand supporting his slightly hollow cheek, and his midnight sky eyes gaze at the burning fire tiredly. He stands up quickly, pulling back his already slicked back, black hair.

"Good morning Lo…"

"Where were you last night?" Logan says; a silent fire is in his eyes.

"Sorry?"

"Last night you were not in your room. Where were you?"

Logan's face is flushed from anger, eyes in a heated glare. It is more than obvious he is furious with all the documents and letters from idiotic nobles. His desk is littered with notes, workers' complaints, and more than one of Reaver's ridiculous plans. So with a charming smile, my mouth formed the simple words "a bar" and he snaps, just like I predicted.

He screams at me, about my un-regal behavior, about his people expecting too much of him, about Reaver never leaving him be, and about Walter's disapproving looks. Finally, he can yell no more, and slumps into a chair, breathing heavily, mentally exhausted. "Feeling better?"

Realization and horror comes to his face as he says, "Raven, you should not have let me do that."

"You do feel better though, right?"

"Much better, thank you," Logan says, still looking extremely guilty, but definitely more relaxed.

The great thing about Logan is that he never fills the silence with useless drivel, and he expects the same of you. If Logan says something, it is always important, even if the meaning was lost to you. "Raven, did you tell sister you're adopted yet?" Logan says nonchalantly, his hands tracing the patterns on the chair.

"No, Logan, I haven't, and I don't think I will."

"Why?" he says, glancing up at me, already knowing my answer, but polite enough to ask.

"Because it doesn't matter; nothing will change, so why say anything?"

"If you don't, somebody else will, and then she'll be furious that you didn't tell her."

"Good point. Well, then I'll take my leave, tatty…"

"Please don't say it. I hear that word at least five times a day from Reaver; my ears can't take it coming from you."

"Spoil-sport; fine then, goodbye Logan, I'll see you later for horseback riding."

"When did I say we were riding horses?" Logan says, his brow crinkling in confusion.

"You did just now; bye!" I say, grinning like a fool.

So with a spring in my step I leave the war room, proud to say it was me that brightened Logan day. Logan is truthfully my favorite part of the day, even if he has become extremely busy lately. Logan is, besides Mother of course, one of the only people in my life that has given me his undivided attention. No matter what he is doing, whether talking to nobles or filling out paperwork, he will always stop what he is doing, give me a rare smile, and listen to me until I'm done. Logan is, to me, like my road that will never crumble.

"Hey Raven!"

My feet screech to a halt, and my head snaps to the right to see none other than Sir Walter Beck with his trademark beer mug at his side, walking down the long stair case's purple rug.

"I was just heading to the kitchen, where your sister's going to make a speech. Do you want to come?"

"Of course; what kind of monster would miss their darling sister's speech?" I say; an innocent smile is on my face.

"You're going to torment her, aren't you?"

"Oh viciously," I say, an evil plot formulating in my mind.

Walter gave a deep chuckle as we both walked into the kitchen, ready to listen to my sister's speech. The kitchen was large, and the servant's were in larger numbers still.

Surprisingly, the speech was good very good. She stated the facts and offered a pleasant solution.

"_Raven…. Your sister Rose…she will be…she will be a…" _

"_Be a…? Be what mommy, what will she be?"_

"_A hero Raven, your sister will be a hero." _

Maybe mother was right after all. "You call that a royal speech? You didn't shout, you didn't threaten, and you were far too reasonable. It was bloody marvelous!" Walter grins wildly, his walrus mustache creeping towards his nose.

"I don't know…that bit about protecting their families was very despicable don't you think?" I say; an artificial scowl is on my face.

"You're just jealous, sister," Rose says, laughing.

"Oh yes, you've seen right through me, how could I possible go on with an older sister as talented as _you_?"

"Shut it."

"Love you too."

"Right then, ready for today's training?" Walter bellows, resting his hand on his sheath.

"Take good care of her, Walter," Elliot calls out, flipping his dark brown hair out of his twinkling hazel eyes, a kind smile on his face. He holds his medium-sized build loosely, his stance trusting and open. He is naïve but a good person and has always strived to do the right thing.

"Sister, you're not coming to watch?"

"As much as I would love to watch you and Walter hit each other with sharp objects, Logan and I are going horseback riding."

"I'm not sure what is more impressive, you getting him out of the castle, or you letting him yell at you all the time and you not hitting him."

"Logan yells at you? Why haven't you told me? What scratch that does Logan even yell at all? Brother always seems so…cold," Rose states, biting her lip.

"Yes, Logan does have the ability to yell, quite loudly in fact, and the only reason he does that is because I antagonize him."

"You antagonize him? Why on earth would you do that?"

We were all quiet for a second or two, until I said, "No matter what anybody says, Logan is still human and even kings need to defuse."

Walter coughs awkwardly and says, "Alright, enough of that its time for today's training!"

"Alright sister, you go doll up for our dear king."

This time it was my turn to cough awkwardly, only this one had a blush added to it. It became even more awkward when I realized that she was simply teasing me. Sister looking slightly disturbed, but thankfully said nothing. Walter and Elliot exchange knowing glances, and the faint but persistent flush glows on my cheeks.

After they leave, Elliot comes behind me a teasing smile on his lips and says, "So Raven how's your 'forbidden' relationship with Logan going," he finished, using quotations on "forbidden."

The fact that I'm not really a princess is widely known with the older maids, and the new workers had at least a suspicion of it, and really it's not hard to see why. Out of my two siblings, I look most like Logan, and that was only because we were both tall, or in my case freakishly tall and still growing. I suppose you could say our hair is similar, but his isn't black, it's dark brown.

"I'm not in any forbidden relationship, sorry if that disappoints you boy toy." Yeah, there's no forbidden relationship of any kind.

He just gives a good natured laugh, far too used to the nickname to be upset by it.

"I'm going to go change. Are you going to watch Rose?"

"In a bit, but right now I'm staying here."

"Alright, see you later, boy toy," I say, waving, and trot up the kitchen stairs.

The halls are eerily quiet; servants dash to and fro, never looking anyone in the eyes. Finally I arrive at my room, the tension of the halls disappearing like smoke when someone opens a window.

My room is larger than most; in fact, the closet is about the size of a small bedroom. However, it was rare that I spend any time in it at all. The only sign of personalization is the large, sleeping hawk, Xander, resting peacefully on his window perch.

In a dash I remove my clothes, bathe, and place on my riding garments, most importantly a hair tie. There were a few times where I'd entertain the idea of cutting it short, but then I remembered why it was long, blush, and forgot the notion.

My hand is on the cold door handle when an idea comes to mind that is simply too good to pass up. Practically skipping over to my bed, I got on my hands and knees and pulled out a wooden box; in it was a pistol. It's a beauty, my pistol, silver and sleek, with what looked like silver ivy wrapping around it.

Every year since I was seven, some unknown person had given me a single present, and every time it was as if he or she had read my mind. Most people assumed it was Logan trying to sneak me an extra present; however his little "competition" with said person said otherwise. He would buy me something extra ordinary, and truly I would love it, (as I told him ever year) then that person's gift came and he felt it blew his out of the water.

It was great at first getting two amazing presents, but at 10 I'd realized that preserving Logan sanity was more important; however that doesn't stop him from still trying to beat said person.

The important thing right now however, is deciding if I should bring this or not. On one hand I need protection…_no you don't; Logan will be bringing his guards just for you. _Well, he might need extra protection himself…_you know he's more than strong enough himself. _Oh, sod it; I just want to bring that gun.

Snatching it out of its pretty box, I place it in my belt's holster and go on my way. My excitement is at its peak right now. Maybe Logan will bring a lute. Probably…he did like to hear me play. That's when I heard it, a loud commotion coming from the throne room.

"That can't be right," I whisper, a wrinkle forming in-between my brow, "Logan isn't holding court today."

So, curiously, I tiptoe my way over to the cracked door to see Rose and Elliot, standing stiffly as Logan slouches on his throne.

"Here come the saviors of the people. Come closer, sister."

Hesitantly my sister walks forward, slowly letting go of Elliot's hand.

"Today you have disappointed me beyond measure," Logan says, shifting back and forth on his throne, "I have been betrayed by my own blood, and a filthy spy," he adds, venom lacing his every word.

"We did nothing wrong," Elliot shot back.

Ignoring Elliot, Logan shoots up and says, "Punishment must be apportioned where it belongs."

"Punish me then," Rose says bravely, pointing to herself.

"You are no longer a child, and it's time I stopped treating you as one," _step, step, step_, until he is right in front of her; odd to think not even a year ago they were as close as siblings could be.

"You wished to save the traitors who had gathered outside the castle this morning. Very well, you shall have you chance to save them."

_That's_ what this is about, protesters yapping outside the front door? Oh, for the love of-either put them in jail or give them a strict warning, there's no need to kill the poor souls!

"Here stands the leaders of the violent mob," Logan said gesturing with his hand to a group of people, huddled up and frightened.

"I will give you a choice. Who will be punished: these strangers or the boy? The sentence will be death."

Everything went into a panic after that, Rose grasping Elliot hand, the strangers crying out, and me slamming both doors open.

"Logan, please think about what you're doing!"

Logan has never ignored me a day of my life, but today, today is different. "You are the princess; decide."

_Crack!_ "Your majesty, Logan, please," Walter calls out, taking a step forward.

"Logan, listen to me! There must be another way!" I say, gripping his shoulder.

"I am giving you power over life and death."

_Crack_, my stone road is crumbling, bits and pieces already lost.

"No! I won't do this!"

"Logan," I reply weakly, barely holding his shoulder anymore.

"If you don't choose I will. They will all be executed."

_Crash!_ My road, my invincible stone road, came crumbling down: with me on it.

Things are hectic after that: Elliot pleading Rose not to let those people die, said people crying louder than ever; but I just stand there shocked, hurt and trying to hold onto what little is left. With a sob Rose makes her decision. "Elliot," she says, her voice breaking.

The crowd is relieved, shouting their thanks as they are escorted from the throne room; but for me and my sister, what is left of our life—that small little peace—is shattered.

"You did the right thing." Sister just shakes her head, a single tear streaming down her cheek. "And whatever happens, know that I love you."

Guards roughly grab Elliot, dragging him out of the room to await his death. Furiously Rose spins around to Logan and screams, "I will never forgive you!"

"Good; that means you'll never forget it. Escort my sister to her chambers. Now."

After Rose leaves, kicking and screaming, Logan sighs and turns to me; but I am still staring, staring at the spot where Elliot and Rose had been. Was that real? No, that was impossible. Elliot is still alive; this has to be a joke…some sick, twisted joke.

"Raven," Logan says, practically slapping me with realization.

I storm out of there, my hands tightening into fists. How dare him! How…? "Raven come back, let me explain!"

Explain what? That he's insane, that he broke my trust, that he killed Elliot?

"Raven," Logan grabs my shoulder, pulling me back. I do the first thing that pops in my head: I slap him.

The _smack_ echoes in the halls and Logan stares, shocked, his cheek already a bright red.

Tears stream down my face, then it occurs to me; I just slapped the king.

"Don't talk to me," I hiss. He nods numbly as he watches me leave. I use my sleeves to wipe the tears.

I take ten fragile steps, as if the earth is crumbling beneath me, then I take off, pushing past the servants, and burst through the doors; the rain is soaking my clothes in an instant. When did it start raining? Why did such a happy day become this?

The rain is beating down on the concrete, like the pounding of drums, but the sobs from sister's room were louder still. What I should do is go to her door, let myself inside, and tell her it will be alright; instead, I climbed the ivy leading up to her tower's roof, curl myself in a ball, and let her cry it out, because lying wouldn't change a thing.

What do we do now? Sister and I can't stay here, it would drive her insane, and I'd be put in jail.

As if to answer my thoughts a large figure emerges from the rain. It is none other than Walter. Stealthily I climb down the ivy until all of his words became clear.

"This kingdom needs nothing less than a revolution...it needs a Hero."

So the time has come. "Well sister, if you're planning some big, life-changing plan, I do hope you include me."

Walter, who stands at the threshold, only has a second to look around in confusion before I drop directly in front of him. "After all, you would be helpless without me."

"Balls!" he exclaims, startled. "Bloody hell…can't even give us a warning before you do something like that, can you?" he mutters. Beside him, Jasper sighs, once again puzzled at my irrational behavior.

"I started talking; _that_ was your warning. Anyway, enough of that; let's go and rally some citizens, kill some guards, and lead one of the most interesting revolution's Albion has ever seen."

"Sister, you can't just jump into something like this!" Rose cries. "At least think about this for a second."

"So agreeing to something as soon as you hear it isn't 'jumping into to it,' as it were." Sister blushes, and coughs awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact. "Besides, I already knew this day to come would come. I just wasn't aware of the date yet."

"You knew that this would happen?" she asks, bewildered.

"Not the rebellion, no, but I did know you are a hero, so if the mighty hero of Albion decides a revolution is necessary, who am I to judge?" I garble quickly, "_Besides it would be hard to stay after slapping the king_." Then, I say in my prior timbre, "Onward then!"

"Wait, you did what!" They all cry in unison.

Walter groans and mumbles something that sounds like "not good."

Jasper says, "Madam, if I may, what implored you to slap Logan?"

"It's a situation where the hand is faster than the brain," I say nonchalantly, as Rose and Walter slap their palms on their faces, exasperated.

"Do you even have a…oh, I suppose you do," Walter says as I brandish my gleaming pistol.

"Now that that's settled, let's go…wait!" I cry. "I almost forgot something…and no, Walter we do not have to go in the castle."

Walter nods gratefully as I put two of my fingers in my mouth and blow, the whistle piercing the air sharply.

Where is she? Why didn't she let me explain?

A cold, bitter laugh to escapes my scarred lips. Yes, like anyone, even Raven would stop and listen to what I say, and if she did stop to listen, what would I say? The truth…sometimes not even I believe in the truth.

Her room is dark as I gather my thoughts, not even one candle is lit, nor is one book left open; no yellowed pages flap in the gale blowing in through her window, smelling of her. The only glimmer of light is from her hawk's bright amber eyes, my last hope. She would never leave him, which means as long as he remains, so does she. It is a selfish intent, I know, wishing she would stay. Raven should go, not only for herself, but for Sister as well. Rose has never been outside the castle, and Walter is a soldier with an unbreakable code. Raven, however could not only fit in with the down and dirty people, she liked it.

However this part of me, the logical part, was being greatly overpowered by the selfish part of me; why did Raven have to go? Why do I have to lose those kind eyes, those sweet lips that never stopped laughing, but most importantly, the voice that could rival an angel in its beauty?

Suddenly Xander stops glaring at me and turns his head to the window. His wings expand, and he flies out of the room, taking my hope with him.


	2. CH2 escaping the castle

CH.2 escaping the castle

_Tap_, _tap_, _tap_. My foot taps impatiently on the floor, waiting for Xander to arrive. I squint into the sky, scanning for his piercing amber eyes. Thankfully he arrives with little delay; not even thirty seconds have ticked by when he appears, brown feathers flapping against the rain. Gently he lands on my arm, his wet beak affectionately pecking my cheek.

"I'm fine, boy—nothing to worry about. We're leaving the castle now, ok?" I mumble quietly, my left hand stroking his cheek.

Xander stares at me for a few seconds, a stern expression on his face, oddly human for a hawk. Suddenly, Knight reveals himself from behind Rose's legs and barks happily at Xander. If a bird could roll his eyes, Xander would; as it is he caws almost superciliously and lifts off my arm, soaring directly over head. His bright hawk eyes watch each of us tenderly.

"Bloody bird's too smart for its own good," Walter mumbles, tousling his graying hair.

"Let's go," Rose says, jerking her head to the right. Her delicate hand, a shade of the loveliest strawberry cream, petting Knight affectionately, her wide brown eyes stare sadly at the rain.

Sister has not even taken a step forward when Walter murmurs, "It's time to see if you're ready."

Rose pauses and says cautiously, "Ready for what?" Her narrow shoulders tense slightly.

"To be your mother's daughter," he states simply, a proud gleam in his dark eyes.

Jasper interjects, "Very good; I will pack some essentials."

Walter shakes his head. "There's no time. We take nothing."

"We won't even take…pajamas?" Jasper gasps, as if the very idea is absurd.

"Yes, Walter, how could you possibly suggest a world without pajamas? Not to bring them should be a crime against man!" I spew sarcastically, an impish smile on my face.

Jasper sighs, but he gives in without a fuss. Walter points to the door and says, "Come on, we must leave now."

Jasper nods, agreeing wholeheartedly, and says, "Don't worry, madam. I shall follow you wherever fate may take us."

Envious of his dogged loyalty to her, I feel a gnarled root start tugging at my stomach; however, before it can take hold, I push it out and calmly follow Rose.

We walk at a brisk pace as Walter prattles on, his voice filled with self-loathing, "I should have done something in the throne room…I should have stopped him."

Jasper sadly shakes his head and says, "All that would have accomplished would have been your own death."

Unconvinced, Walter turns to Rose and says with pitying eyes, "Still, maybe I should have taken you away sooner."

The conversation seems to make Rose realize something, for she stops next to me and says tentatively, "Sister…you know it wasn't your fault, right? You did everything anybody could possibly do. Raven, are you…?"

"_SHHHHHH!_"I snap, holding out my hand to silence her, head jerking up.

There, right above our heads, are my white curtains, fluttering in the breeze: windows open. The open windows are not a concern; how else would Xander have been able to come to me? However, the dark figure watching from my window is not a good sign.

_Logan stared painfully at me, hands clutching his face, his newly scarred lips a disturbing red._

"_Broken," he whispered, voice void of all emotion, eyes blank, "I'm just a broken little toy."_

_Without hesitation I kneeled on the rug, my hand peeling his from his face; I held it gently. "But with enough help, can't broken toys be fixed?" _

_In a flash, Logan had tightly wrapped his arms around me and sank his face in my shoulder. Not a sob escaped his lips but the profound meaning rooted in this gesture was not lost to me._

"_I won't leave you, Logan, not now, not ever…that's a promise." _

"Sister, what was that? What did you see?" Rose asks curiously, glancing at the ghostly curtains.

"Nothing…it's nothing at all," I lie adeptly, flashing a gleaming smile. I suppose now I know how Xander knew about my distress.

Rose peers at me with uncertainty, but thankfully says nothing as we walk in a brisk pace, down a flight of curving stone steps, into the garden. We quickly catch up with Walter and Jasper.

Rubbing his palms together, Jasper mumbles, "There is something rather sinister about this garden at night."

Snorting, I say, "Not to mention the Author doing a horrible job at the passing time. Can't she even write in an extra day to build up the plot?"

They all stop to stare at me, eyes lingering, searching for signs of madness. They remain this way, silently appraising me, until Walter shouts out, "What in blazes are you talking about?"  
>"Nothing, I'm just breaking the fourth wall." They all gawk at each other incredulously after that comment, but wisely don't mention it again.<p>

"Where are we going?" Rose says, eyes flickering nervously at the dark garden. "I thought we were leaving the castle."

"We are," Walter agrees, staring blankly at the scenery, "but there's something we must do first."

Suddenly we screech to a halt, right in front of the Catacomb, right in front of the graves of the late King and Queen. My breath hitches in my throat as I think, _Mother_.

Yet, the sight of the Catacomb itself doesn't depress me. I haven't dared to visit it much since her passing, but I see now that her mausoleum does not bear the grim, ominous foreboding of death. It is instead a celebration of life—it projects exactly what mother deserves. The building is pale, stark white, sparkling silver from the moon's tranquil beam, with a statue of her and her husband each standing tall and proud.

Finally Walter says flatly, devoid of all emotion, "It's time we paid our respect to Albion's last Hero."

Jasper sighs heavily. "I never thought I'd enter this place again."

"You should have known better," Walter says morosely, as he watches Rose push the heavy stone door with ease.

Only once do I glance back at the castle, its quietly morbid atmosphere daunting, then with a finale sigh, I bid my childhood home a silent farewell, and follow the others.

The inside does not reflect the peaceful façade of the opening. It is dark and depressing, and the _drip, drip, drip_ of water makes an eerie echo along the mossy stone walls. No one can say it is a small tomb; it is easily twice as large as the average home.

Walter starts to speak again, his voice serious, "The night your mother died, I promised her I would take you here one day, when you were old enough, and strong enough. This is your history. This is your legacy."

Sister and I stop at the two bright white coffins resting beside each other. Sadly, she traces her hand along the top of her parents' tombs, wiping away years of dust. Rose's father had died when I was just four, so I never forged much of an emotional bond with him; however, as I look at mother's tomb, the image of a bright, smiling, caring woman haunts my mind. In my head, her laughter is still echoing as loud as the water splashing in this tomb.

"The world has been too long without a Hero," Walter explains, dark eyes glancing at a stone angel, its empty eyes melancholy and weeping, looming over Mother and her husband's grave, "but I'm hoping that it will have one soon."

Kneeling at a stone wall, right in front of mother's tomb, he gives one of the slabs a push, sliding it back and hitting an invisible lever. With a mechanical creak, the angel's hands leave her face, snapping in front of Rose, palms open, offering a gift. On them is a seal of some sort, round in shape and as big as my head.

Walter stands up and brushes the dust off of his knees, saying, "This is your mother's most treasured possession, the Guild Seal. It chooses those who have the power inside them, those who have the potential to become legends. Take it."

Tentatively, sister reaches for the gold and blue seal, but suddenly she stops, her hand hovering over it like the slightest touch would burn. Finally, she snatches it, gently rubbing her thumb over the top, tracing the outside with affection.

"Is something supposed to happen?" she asked wonderingly.

Suddenly a bright light emits from the seal, and Rose lets out a blood-curdling scream. Bright light blinds me, making my eyes weep with pain. In desperation, I try to shield them, but it's like my body's frozen in time, unable to move.

Then, the light vanishes, and Sister reappears before me, standing on a circle that seemed to be…_glowing_? And why is Rose wearing seemingly aflame gauntlets?

"Well," Walter says, curiously looking, completely unaware of the flames or the fact we moved ten feet, "do you…do you feel any different?"

Didn't either of them see the fire, or the confused look on her face, or the million questions lingering on her lips?

"I-I don't know," whispered Rose, eyes darting to and fro, tracing her new, odd gauntlets.

"Try casting a spell," Walter suggests gently. "That's supposed to be our only way of getting out of here."

"You might have mentioned that earlier," gripes Jasper, giving Walter a disproving look.

"And spoil the surprise?" Walter asks, laughing.

Jasper just shakes his head and mutters something like, "And he's a grown man."

Slowly, Rose spreads her arms and curls her palms into fists, breathing in, then _BAM! _Her fists catch fire and she slams them onto the ground, fire vibrating on the odd circle beneath her. Slowly, both mother and her husband's tomb slide slowly apart, revealing a dark, wet cave…_balls_.

"It bloody worked! You really are a Hero!" Walter crows triumphantly.

"I never doubted it for a second," Jasper says proudly, his head held high.

"Well, of course, neither did I. Still…it bloody worked!"

"Yes, sister," I snort. "You did an amazing job of moving our parents' long dead corpses, so kudos to you."

"You always know just what to say, don't you sister?" Rose mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Of course I do." I add incoherently, "_Now let's go before I change my mind."_

"What was that, sister?" Rose asks, as both she and Knight cock their heads to the side.

Perhaps it should unnerve me that Rose and her dog are so in sync, but as of right now it takes all of my self-control not to laugh.

"Nothing, nothing—just wondering what would happen if you lost control of your magic. I mean, you'd possibly burn to death or worse," I state, a disturbingly cheerful smile on my face.

Paler than a ghost, Rose touches her arm then scowls, griping, "Shut up," to me and stomps her way down into the passage.

Hesitantly, I stop at the entrance, anxiously twirling my naturally curly bangs, and I glance at Walter to see that he had stopped, too, biting his lip and glancing back at the entrance. Finally, he turns and gives me a sympathetic stare. I will have none of that, so, swiftly, I walk down the moss-covered steps and into the dark creepy cave.

At the sides lie empty boxes, unused and unwanted, cobwebs claiming them as their home. Yellow candles sit to the left of us, still burning brightly despite the considerable lack of attention. Knowing Mother, she enchanted them; making them near indestructible…Mother always did love her little tricks.

Thankfully, when I am faced with fear, my face becomes passive, body ready to take flight. Walter, however, is a different story. "Somewhat narrow, isn't it? Dark too," he protests, eyes shifting to and fro.

Jasper responds, curiously and somewhat teasingly, "You never did care for confined spaces, did you, Sir Walter?"  
>"I never did care for being poked in the eye or having my head chopped off, what of it?"<p>

"Oh dear, I seem to have struck a nerve."

"How about if I strike a butler on the bonce," Walter snapped, glaring threateningly at Jasper's head.

Sighing, Rose continues to test her new powers, lighting the inside of some round metal holders ablaze. Happily, the narrow space is short-lived, and we arrive at a ledge, the cave now brightly lit by sunlight seeping through the cracks. However, it appears as if the cave goes on forever. With new found joy, Xander pushes off my shoulder and soars upward into the greater heights of death trap.

"Ah, now _this_ is more like it!" Walter bellows, raising both arms in emphasis of the large space, "Grand and spacious, a plentiful supply of oxygen…just the way a castle's escape route should be."

Walter's great degree of relief is lost on me, as the only difference between the tight hallway and this is that you can't see the falling rock coming. However, because I want to preserve Walter's sanity as best as I can—and also avoid getting punched by Rose for my smart mouth—I say nothing.

We turn to the left, allowing the dirt path to guide us silently, until Jasper inquires, "I hesitate to ask, but what is our plan? Other then leaving the castle far behind us, which I wholly approve of…" he says. "…_obviously_." He adds this last part uncomfortably, fiddling with the blue bow that ties his silver hair as he jogs.

"It's simple, we have stop Logan," Walter replies off-handedly, as if he's talking about tomorrow's lunch.

Rose screeches to a halt, the uncertainty on her face as clear as the stars in the sky…if you could see the stars in this bloody dank cave.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Rose demands, wringing her hands. "Even if I am a Hero, I'm just one person."

"Don't be silly sister; you can obviously do this all by your sweet little self. In fact, we should just go to Logan and ask him! Then unicorns and rainbows will burst out, and Reaver will magically appear! He will then declare that he has forsaken his evil ways, and will no longer force children to work, and give his workers fair pay! Oh, it's all simply moving, isn't it?" I flutter my eyelashes and giggle.

Walter chuckles good-naturedly and jokes, "Not sure which is more believable; unicorns or the Reaver bit."

Pretending to be deep in thought, I cross my arms and tilt my head, then declare proudly, "Clearly the unicorns; while it's plausible in the beginning of my tale, everything after rainbows is just utter nonsense."

"Exactly," Walter replies, his simple chuckle melding into a deep, throaty laugh, but stops himself as he looks to Rose. "That is why we need allies. And lots of them: once you prove what you are, people will follow you, and many of them will be willing to fight. But they need a leader, someone to believe in. Albion needs nothing less than a revolution."

"Don't forget rainbows and unicorns; they are clearly the deciding factors," I say mockingly, leaning back against a rocky wall.  
>I see a snarky remark on the tip of Rose's tongue, but before she can say it, Knight's canine head snaps up, barking as he sniffs the air, and Xander's piercing cry rings out above us.<p>

"Blast, they're bats! Take cover," Jasper cries, already using his arms as shields.

"Well, young Hero, this is your chance to show us what…" Walter begins. He's cut off suddenly by a deafening bang. A tiny bat body falls from above; blood squirts from its chest.

Lifting a brow, I cough expectantly, an innocent smile on my face. I blow lightly on my pistol's smoking barrel.

"And of course I wouldn't dream of leaving you out, princess," Walter says, far too cheerful as he slaughters the rats of the sky.

"Of course you wouldn't," I agree mockingly, shooting at more bats, their shrill screams a symphony to my ears.

As we prattle on, Rose scorches legions of bats, their tiny bodies like levitating candles. Walter starts using his pistol as well. However, to my deep satisfaction, he has missed twice, while I never waste a bullet.

Then, a perfect moment arrives, and time stands still. This is unlike in the incident in the cave, where I felt as if spikes were being shoved in my very soul. No, it is as if my senses are so heightened that I can see and hear everything around me. Rapidly, I feel my finger pull the slick, shiny trigger and my silver bullet pierces three shrieking bats. Not one, not even two; but three with one bullet.

Shortly after, the remaining bats flee, scared off by either the fire or the loud bang of the guns.

"Excellent! Did you see that, Jasper? Did you see it?" Walter bellows, ruffling Rose's hair, draping his arm around my shoulder.

Jasper stops flailing his arms, and with what little of his dignity remains, straightens his hair and clothes, saying, "Indeed, your mother would have proud, madams."

"Well, I know I am," Walter grins, finally letting us go, leaving our hair thoroughly mussed. He adds, gesturing forward, "Come on."

Then, he pauses, a devious smirk on his face and, seeming unable to resist, Walter teases Jasper, "And I'm proud of you, too, old friend. I've never seen a man cower with such grace."

Defensively, Jasper snaps, "It is merely a matter of hygiene; bats are absolutely _filthy_ creatures."

Tilting his head back, Walter chortles, and then says, "Anyway, I think we've just seen the first proof of what you can do. You are the Hero who will lead this land in a revolution; bats are just the beginning."

"Don't you be absurd, Walter," I retort sarcastically, tinged with a faint undertone of bitterness. Kneeling down to pick up a used bullet, I say, "_Obviously_, bats are the strongest enemy we will ever face."

"What are you doing?" Rose asks, curiosity lacing her every word.

Flipping the bullet in the air, I catch it and answer, a bit distracted, "It's a trophy of the first bat I killed, although I imagine this will seem insignificant in time, from all the more important and powerful things I will kill."

Chuckling, Rose sighs tiredly and says, "I'm not sure whether to call you optimistic, crazy, or cocky."

"Why not all three?" I smirk. I twirl my gun, admiring its shiny, smooth surface, and then jam it back in its holster.

Rose rolls her eyes and punches my arm in a way she probably considered to be "lightly." However, even her lightest of hits is sure to leave a bruise later. "Not so rough sister, you'll mark my delicate skin!" I tease half honestly, rubbing my limb tenderly.

Snorting, Rose says, "I think you'll live."

Rose starts to walk away, but before she can finish her step I drape my arm across her shoulders and say, "Now, enlighten me on what happened before the throne room, dear sister."

Rose easily jerks out of my hold and turns around, her back facing me. If I had to bet, I'd wager her brown eyes stared sadly at the ceiling of the lonely cave.

"I don't feel like talking about it, please understand," she whispers, her voice sadly melodious.

I do understand, to some extent, her grief, her sadness, her anger. Yet, I also understand that if she doesn't say it now, she will never say it. Rose is a person that lets worry and grief build up inside of her, letting others feel at peace when she has none, and eventually she breaks. We can't afford for her to break.

So, crossing my arms and leaning back in a, hopefully, cocky manner I say, "Rose, if I follow you, I want to know you're doing it for reasons I approve of, so if you don't tell me what happened before my intervention, I'll gladly find another way out of the castle." Well, that wasn't totally a lie: I could, maybe, find a different route, and forget all of this. But it would be hard to escape now that Logan had seen me even with my vast knowledge of the dark, and secret, corners of the castle.

Rose spins around, facing me, a deep frown on her pretty pink lips, and, sighing, she says sadly, "If you insist sister, I will tell you."

Rose hesitates for a moment, but only a moment, and then she begins speaking, brown eyes a liquid chocolate. "I was training with Walter, thing were going normally…well, _better_ than normally." A tormented chuckle, ghostly and morose, lingers on her lips. "I broke his sword…he was so proud."

"Is," I correct, sensing an unneeded air of depression, "he is proud."

"Right," Rose agrees, smiling softly at me. "Anyway, he was about to say something, probably about this revolution, but Elliot interrupted, telling us to look out at the main gate. There were protesters, holding up signs…demanding the death of the king. Then, Walter yelled that he was going to try to reason with Logan, and he went to the war room; Elliot suggested we follow him."

"And you agreed." It wasn't a question; suddenly things were starting to make sense.

"Yes, Elliot and I saw that all the guards had moved from the stairs, and we were able to sneak right outside of the war room. We spied on them through the key hole."

It's almost amusing that Rose looks more ashamed that she spied then that she snuck into an area restricted to her to begin with. Now that I think about it, it is odd. Why wasn't Rose allowed to go to the war room when I was? Most likely, because Logan knew that everything Rose saw or heard would go right to Elliot sooner or later. Logan never did trust Elliot…or nobles, or most of the people he met.

"We saw Logan giving orders to his men, and he told them to kill the ring leaders and, if necessary, the others as well. Walter told him to stop, but Logan's soldier hit his knee and made him kneel before him…Logan ordered to never tell him what to do. Then, Elliot convinced me to try to talk him out of it, and, well…you know the rest," Rose finishes, her voice breaking at the end.

Oh, for the love of…no wonder he was angry. It doesn't excuse what he did but…still, at least I know why he was upset. My brow furrows, and suddenly I tense, feeling as if something should happen right now. Hmm…best to just ignore it for now.

"What in blazes is holding you two up?" Walter calls, scowling, and walks back towards us, with Jasper, annoyed, in tow.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, waiting for them to be in hearing range. When they are close enough I mumble, "Rose just told me what happened before the trial.

Confused, Walter scratches his head and says gruffly, "So what of it? Why do you look so bloody annoyed?"

Annoyed…is that the word? Hmm…maybe it is. "Why did either of _you_ geniuses think that objecting to Logan's orders openly, in front of his subjects _and_ guards, would be a good idea?"

"Oh," Walter says, finally understanding the magnitude of his error. Rose, however, who hasn't the slightest interest in politics, and has never been allowed to watch a trial, does not understand the implication.

So, crossing her arms and tilting her head, Rose asks, "So what if we did? He was wrong and someone had to stop him."

Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose harder and say, "Let's say for one wild moment you're Logan and you're the ruler of Albion. And let's also say that to get anything done, you must have the respect of _all_ your staff guards, in addition to all of your kingdom's citizens. Now, just for giggles here, let's say one day your most trusted adviser openly opposes you—in front of the people whose trust you desperately need.

"Now, almost directly after that, your little sister does the same exact thing, under the power of a startling persuasive boy who makes your followers question how much power you really have."

"Oh," Rose says softly. Then: "_Oh_," as she fully grasps the meaning of my words.

Rose rubs her arm uncomfortably, her face a swirling red mixture of embarrassment and shame. Then, in a last moment of redemption, she demands, "And what would you do, Raven? Would you just watch as those people died?"

Sighing, I rub my forehead and say, "I would have asked him to go with me and discuss it in another room."

Rose says nothing, eyes cast down. Slowly, her gaze locks with mine, and she says, "Does that justify what he did, then? Is that the reason he did… this? You tell me Raven; you know him best."

Rose's watery brown eyes plead for answers. Walter and Jasper look at me as well, not quite pleading, but rather a scholarly curiosity. Then I realize that I truly do know Logan best.

Anxious, I twist my hair and say, "I-I don't know, on both accounts. That isn't like Logan…he doesn't lose his head quickly…he…" _Logan_ _doesn't do thing a without a reason even if it's lost to you._

So I thought—but what do I know? They're still staring at me, waiting for an answer, until I finish, "Anyway…um, let's go before the ground opens up and swallow us, yes?"

All three of them wear childlike-expressions, as if they stayed up past bedtime to listen to a story that had no end. However, they, thankfully, say nothing, knowing my need for quiet, but being less aware of its origin. Silently, we start to walk down the dirt slope, passing the crumbling, cobweb-adorned, once-white weeping angels. Wooden torches show us the way; old, long-forgotten buildings stand, barely off the path.

Suddenly, the path morphs into something similar to a slide, forcing us to sprint, as we try not to crash into each other. Tentatively, we regain our balance as the slope stops at a staircase of moss-covered stones, their sides crumbling away; brown, murky cave water laps at the bottom step.

Rose and I are the first to have full confidence in our ability to stand straight, so, coolly, we traipse down the steps. Lost in my own head, I don't stop walking until I feel dark, murky water wash over my foot. Rose, a few steps behind me, squeals when her shoe gets wet, and splashes wildly, yanking her feet out and hopping up to the next-highest steps.

All of a sudden, I hear the flapping of tiny wings, and Walter says, "More bats! Get ready to cast some magic, Rose, and Raven, try to hit them like you did back there!"

Snorting, I say, "Try? My dear Walter, you're clearly misjudging my abilities."

Snapping, Walter retorts, "Just shut your yap and shoot the bloody gun!"

Rolling my eyes, I do as he says, hitting each of their puny little hearts, quickly mastering the ability I used before. Xander helps too, using his knife-like claws to crush the vermin, making an oddly satisfying crunching noise. Knight pitches in as well, biting the low-flying bats and snapping their necks. Despite the mass swarm of bats, it takes little time at all to finish them off; not even one lives.

From the top of the stairs Jasper calls, "Another impressive display, madams," then he sighs and directs the rest of his words to Rose, "To think, this morning, my job consisted of laying out clothes for royalty. Now I'm a midnight snack for bats!"

Chuckling, Walter responds, "You'll get used to it."

After a few more steps, the crumbling rocks become too much for me, and I start to hum my favorite song, the one mother sang to me. Almost immediately after I start to hum, a horrible aroma sneaks its way into my nostrils. It's a sewer tunnel: one wall has a mutated green slug hanging from it, and the floor is concealed by dark brown water.

"You might want to cover your nose from here on," Walter advises dryly. "These are the Bowerstone sewers."

Almost immediately after, that the vermin of the sky reappear _yet again_. (Good God, where the hell are they _coming_ from? We've already murdered hundreds of them!) Walter shouts, "You might want to cover your eyes too, Jasper. More bats!"

After an epic…oh God, who am I kidding? It was bloody boring. Not even our two loyal animals got a chance to help before we killed them all. In fact, I never even had to stop humming.

Bored, I shove my gun back into its holster wall Walter says proudly, "You've certainly got the hang of that spell. Shall we proceed?" Chipper, he says to Jasper, "Well, that sure was quick. Rose's pet didn't even get to participate—and Knight didn't assist us, either." With a sparkle in his eye, he winks jovially.

"Ha ha," Jasper replies flatly, curling his lip in distaste.

As we're about to step forward, Walter scowls and snaps, "Who's bloody humming?"

This makes me stop my chipper salvation and gripe, "Me; does it offend you in some way? If not, leave me alone."

Rose, ever the peace keeper, asks, "So, what are you singing?"

In answer I sing,

"Down by the Reeds.  
>Down by the Reeds.<br>Swim the sirens of Oakvale.  
>Out to the Seas.<p>

Down by the Reeds.  
>Down by the Reeds.<br>Float the souls left unbroken by White Balverines.

Down by the Reeds.  
>Night-Blooming weeds embrace those who go dancing, in sad moonlit dreams.<p>

Down by the Reeds.  
>A twisted Path Leads.<br>To Banshee's who breathe out.  
>A cold winter breeze.<p>

Nobody Knows.  
>Nobody Sees.<br>The sirens Of Oakvale.  
>Down by the Reeds."<p>

All of them blink once, twice. Finally, they seem to accept whatever madness I have now, and we go into the tunnel.

A frown graces my face as I stare at my once clean riding boots, now covered in muck. Turning around, though, I decide this is much better than the hell pit behind me.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about rocks falling and crushing us here," I say wistfully, then, almost happily, walk into the sewer, Xander landing gracefully on my shoulder.

At my comment, Walter turns pale as snow, glancing back nervously at the cave. Thankfully, Jasper starts talking before Rose can hit me for distressing Walter. "Ugh, what an unusual stench; I daresay we must be somewhere beneath Bowerstone Industrial."

"Very likely," Walter nods, trying to distract himself. "Not the safest place for us right now, but we should be able to find a way out of the city once we reach the surface."

With a few steps, my ridiculously long legs easily catch up to Rose. Walking directly behind her, still out of ear-shot from the other two, I whisper in a teasing voice, "They sure are chatty, whatever for?"

This time Rose punches me, leaving me clutching my arm, a very dirty curse streaming from my lips. Quickly, Rose curves to the left, heading down a path that leads to a smashed brick wall with a gaping hole in it, leaving us a large opening. At first, it looks like the same disgusting damp sewer we just abandoned, until the short tunnel stops and we see something that must have taken years to construct. A walk way is enflamed with candles on both sides, and pine trees still live, resting on their little islands. Ivy covers the walls, and pillars, though broken, stand strong.

"Mother must have had a lot of time on her hands," I gasp, in awe with the splendor.

"It appears to be a dead end," Jasper frets, too worried to hear my comment.

This isn't totally true: at the end of the platform there appears to be a large gild seal engraved on the ground. It's in the center of a circular platform, and once every few seconds it seems to…spark? As if waiting for someone.

"Not quite," Walter replies stroking his large mustache.

"What is that?" Rose asks hesitantly, dancing around the circle, her large brown eyes darting to it then back to Walter.

"I'm pretty sure it's a Cullis Gate, sort of a magical transportation system for Heroes," Walter says, shrugging, eyes lingering on a random tree.

Wait…he's only _pretty_ sure? So if he's wrong then…oh bugger.

Jasper doesn't appear to notice my inner thoughts, because he calmly says, "I was under the impression that Cullis Gates were all gone."

"Does no one else notice he said _pretty sure_? No, it was just me? Alright, I'll just stand here quietly…somewhat," I say sarcastically, watching Rose roll her eyes at my stupidity.

Just as I predicted, they both ignore me, and Walter says, "Well, it looks like there's one left, at least. Your mother must have placed this here, in case she ever needed to use it," he finishes, friendly warmth in his eyes.

Jasper nods, sharing Walter's pain, then says, "It's the same symbol that we saw by the tomb. Do you suppose it's activated in the same way?"

Cheerfully, Walter answers, "Well, there's only one way to find out. You know what to do."

Exited I ball my hands into fists and say, "Burn it, burn it, burn…what?" They exchange puzzled glances. "That magic thing's cool." I snap as all three give me odd stares.

Ross mutters under her breath, "Crazy." She stands in the center, and then lifts her hand, creating fire with it. An orange glow surrounds her, and then turns blue. However, before I can see anything else, the same blue light surrounds me, blinding me with an impeccable light.

Every maid, servant, and even cook is scattered, looking desperately for the two missing princesses. I'd tried to give them a head start and pretend I didn't see them in the drizzling rain, but Raven's daily schedule was their undoing, in the end. Apparently, every night for the past year, a young maid would sneak into the larder and wait for Raven to show. When she did appear, the maid would give Raven the key to the cellar door, under the promise she would never get drunk. So far Raven has kept her word, only drinking, at most, two drinks a night. Raven probably would have done that anyway; she's like me—paranoid. However, she does enjoy fighting much more than I do.

The maid had waited hours, but Raven never came. Worried about her long-time friend, the maid made haste to Raven's room, only to find a dark, made bed and an empty bird perch. After she had heard about me and Raven's…erg, _falling_ _out_, the young maid feared for Raven's life, and went to tell Rose the news. Much to the maid's surprise, Rose was gone as well. Panicking, she ran to a guard, sobbing her story to him, barely able to get any words across her lips, let alone a coherent sentence. However the guard appeared to be able to speak woman and immediately went out to find the other guards. They tried to ask how, or better yet, why she knows of their disappearance.

Despite their valiant effort they learned nothing, and were forced to contact me. The woman had put up a good attempt to not answer my questions, but it seems my black eyes are more frightening than a group of trained soldiers, because not even three minutes after questioning her, she sobbed even louder and emitted her guilt. It didn't surprise me she had been doing this for Raven; it surprised me even less when I saw her carrying bags of food and clothes Raven's size. For her safety, however, I didn't ask why she had them. I advised she resign and find a different job, before people started pointing fingers.

The guards were frenzied after that, quickly discovering the missing beds of Walter and Jasper. To avoid a public scandal, I had to rule it kidnapping, although anyone who knows the two girls even remotely realized that there would be blood if anyone tried to kidnap them.

So here I am now in the war room, standing over the 3D map, watching the first rays of sunlight shine through the curtains. Despite many people's assumptions, my biggest concern was not their whereabouts. Knowing Raven's luck, they are probably in a dark cave and she is twirling her hair until it stands up, singing Mother's disturbing lullaby. No—currently I'm wondering if the servant's gossip has reached _that _deviant yet. If so, I have to prepare for a headache.

In fact, I glance at the bottle of red wine hidden under the table, thinking about taking my mind off it, but toss the idea aside; I never drink during the day. Then, the reason of my drinking schedule bursts through the sound proof door. Twirling his black cane in a dramatic fashion, he bows, his abnormally large top hat surprisingly staying on his head, and he says, "Your most gracious Majesty, I heard the most horrible news! So my little dove has flown the coop, has she? And the other one as well, the brown haired one…hmm, what is her name…ah, Rose, that's it!"

I have never allowed Rose to be within thirty feet of Reaver, to his amusement and Rose's confusion. In fact, because he's never been allowed to see her, his running "joke" is that he never remembers her name, simply referring to Rose as the brown haired girl. Raven, on the other hand, is a different story. She met Reaver even before me, although it was merely a few seconds. Since then he has nicknamed her "little dove," something he only does to people he likes…or hates. He called Mother "the annoying wench."

Now that I think about it…didn't I ask the guard not to let anyone in? Just as I am about to ask, I notice a large blood stain, sinking into the carpet by the door.

Scowling, I snap, "Reaver, stop killing my men! There are only so many!"

His dirty brown eyes don't even blink. His pale lips remain in that permanent cocky smirk, as if killing a random man isn't something to concern you about. And to him, it isn't.

Pouting, he tilts his head, black hair getting in his eyes, and says, "But he annoyed me! To think, the nerve of not letting me, Reaver, in! Who does he think he is? Or was, I suppose," he smirks, glancing back at the growing blood puddle.

"Well, we've had enough of that!" Reaver says cheerfully, ridiculously long legs easily taking him to my side, "I'm here to…comfort you, in your time of need," he leers, trying to pat my shoulder.

"Don't you dare touch me," I hiss, jerking away from him. "What do you want, Reaver?"

He pouts again, but don't appear to be all that concerned—he never is. "Not up for a bit of sport, Majesty? Very well, Majesty: I notice the little brats in the city still have much too much time on their tiny hands, despite our _noble_ efforts to occupy their time! So I was thinking…"

"Reaver, stop, we will discuss this in the throne room, later," I groan, slicking back my hair.

Sighing, Reaver turns in a flourish, his long white coat twirling with him, and says, "Very well, your Majesty, I shall be at my mansion if ever needed. And I'm sure that I will be! Tatty-bye now!" He then slams my door, leaving this room and my castle behind.


	3. Ch 3: Clothes

Ch. 3: Clothes

As a blue light surrounds me, I feel myself being jerked forward, and I have the strangest sensation of a hook being embedded in my navel. Against my will, my body writhes, and I'm convinced that I _definitely_ left my stomach behind at the Cullis Gate. Suddenly, I find myself standing on the dusty brown and white tile of an old, abandoned room.

Reflexively, Walter draws his sword. I, on the other hand, must use all of my willpower to not hurl. It is rare moments like these that make me glad that I didn't have lunch. The others are faring less well; Jasper has already fainted, and Xander has leapt from my shoulder, scratching, and circles the room. Knight darts around the 3D map, which is seemingly identical to the one in the war room.

A second passes, and we all feel the safety in our isolation settle over us like a thick, fleecy blanket. Walter hesitantly relaxes, and I rub my sore muscles, tense from the odd blue light. Rose leans down to get Jasper, but as she does so, her gaze is absentminded: her eyes flick from the cobwebs, which mark their territory in front of the room's four exits; the pile of random books and papers littering the floor; and the giant 3D map standing in the middle of the round room.

Finally, once she has hauled Jasper up to a somewhat upright position, Rose says, twirling in a circle, "What is this place?"

Scratching his beard, Walter mumbles, "You know, it must be… it's your mother's Sanctuary. She used to speak of it, but I never thought it was a real place. The Queen even invited me here once, but…well, that's in the past," he says flatly, walking over to the map.

Refocusing himself, he looks at a book that is perched what appears to be the map's ocean and says, pulling an age-yellowed letter from beneath its pages, "Well, I don't believe it, Jasper! This book…there's a note with your name on it, look."

Jasper's slightly wrinkled face displays utter shock. Hesitantly, he makes his way over to Walter and says, "That's not possible! 'For Jasper,' it says. Well, I grant you, it is possible, but it must be a coincidence."

Snorting, Walter says, "Oh, Jasper, don't be a dolt. The old Queen must have left it here for you."

"Elegantly put, Walter; you'll be the greatest poet of our age," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes and leaning against a dusty wall.

In one fluid motion, Walter bends down under the map and reappears holding a bag molded into the shape of a lute.

"You come here," he snaps teasingly, gesturing me forward with his hand. Mockingly, I roll my eyes and strut towards him, barely able to glance at the object in his hands before he shoves it in mine.

The first thing I notice is that it's shaped like a lute. Additionally, it's made of leather. Not the cheap kind, either, but the stuff that melds to the touch, yet simultaneously has the texture of granite. Next, I see a line of buttons along the side of the bag, and two pouches, one on each side. What really gets my attention, though, is the old, worn note on top of it.

It's a simple piece of lined paper. Soft to the touch, it's so white and creased that it looks like it's been read a million times, as if every detail of it had to be meticulous. I can see why, too—it's far from being a simple, two-worded note. Instead, it's an entirely detailed letter, and the whole page is filled with words. Mother wasn't illiterate, but she wrote about as much as she talked; which is to say, very little, if at all. Usually, she would just scribble her name on documents, letting Jasper write all of her letters or formal invites. I think she tried to write them once. Halfway through, smoke would belch from her room, and I'd hear the muttering of words I hadn't understood at the time. Now that I think about it, Mother "lost" a lot of things, like her bullets before she went to see a bunch of bickering nobles.

Curious, I begin reading the carefully written words, a small smile on my face.

_Dear Raven,_

_First, if you haven't told Rose the truth already, you might want to keep the note away from her._

Raising my brow, I cover the note and step back to see Rose, trying to peer over me, angling to get a glimpse of Mother's note.

Perhaps it should scare me that Rose and I haven't changed much in eleven years, but right now I'm just happy to have my mother back, in this form, at least.

Leaning back on a dusty wall, I successfully shield the prior words and continue reading.

_Now that you've done that, I have a few things to tell you. First, this case and everything in it is yours. It contains your one way of making money: a lute. If you still play, of course; it would be a shame if you stopped, though. A voice as wonderful as yours deserves to have some music with it. This lute paid my way throughout Albion, and I hope it will help you just as much (if not more) that it did me. Also, in the bottom pouch is a magical bullet container. I remember when __that soulless jackass __Reaver came over. For me, it has only been two days, but it has probably been much longer for you, hasn't it? Well, you were seven, and he introduced you to guns, and, well…I've never seen a child use a toy gun like you did._

I raise my brow at the crossed out words, never knowing Mother harbored any ill-will towards Reaver. Then again, I only ever saw them together in the same room once, for about five minutes…a week before she died.

With a sigh, I shrug my shoulders and continue reading, slightly disturbed at the relationship of the two people whom I respect most.

_Anyway, I used this in my youth. You open the case and put the used bullet in one of the small pockets. Underneath the bullet, a small print will appear, telling you what the bullet is used for. The most important thing I must tell you is that the space in this case is unlimited; you can put anything in it at any amount. Also, don't worry about falling and breaking it; I made sure the case and the lute are extremely hard to break. I hope you use this ability better than I did in my youth._

_From your ever loving mother, Sparrow_

_P.S. If Reaver ever asks if you have any friends who are explorers, just say no, dear. Trust me, you'll thank me later. _

My heart clenches when I read her name, then I re-read the last sentence, twice. I know Reaver's a bit well…_overzealous,_ but he won't…well, only on good…hmm, never mind, I'll keep these words to heart.

Folding the note and putting it in the top pouch, I open the bottom one, shove my hand in, trying to find the bullet case by touch alone. Finally, my fingers graze something cold and metal. Excited, I yank it out, eyeing a white square case, rimmed with light blue.

It's strangely pretty for a box that holds bullets that were previously lodged in a creature's body. Instead of fussing over that, I open the lid with a _pop _and fit in my first bullet to its pouch. Just like Mother said, a tiny black scribble appears below, spelling the word "bats." Slowly, my pale index finger traces the word, smooth to the touch, but oddly hot.

Shrugging my shoulders, I accept what I cannot understand, and move onto the buttons on the side, revealing a light wooden lute. It looks new, its strings shiny and strong, and has not a single scratch on its glossy surface. I cradle it like a new born baby—minus the horrible smell and the sticky drool, of course.

"What does the letter say, Sister, and what's with the lute?" Rose demands, persistently trying to sneak a peek at the letter.

Fingering the letter from its spot in the top pouch, I say, "I love you, et cetera, I leave you with my personal possession, besides the sanctuary, blah, blah, and _blah_, use the lute to make money."

Rose snaps, scowling, "Stop defiling our mother's will!"

Mockingly, I say, "Tsk tsk. Rose, don't you know I'm not _defiling_ our mother's will? I'm merely _simplifying_ it!"

Rose squints her eyes shut, rubs her temples, and mutters, "Don't strangle her. Imagine strangling her—let it out of your system that way, but don't strangle her…"

"Yes, yes, big sister, that's very interesting. Now, Jasper, what does that book say?"

Luckily, I'm quick-witted enough to dodge, because when Rose's fist comes flying at me, so does a giant fire ball, scorching the wall behind me.

"Balls!" Walter yelps, jumping, his dark eyes gazing in awe at the blackened wall.

Rose gasps, and, in a frenzy, says, "Sorry, I'm so, so sorry! I had no idea that would happen! Not that I would have done it on purpose…what I mean is…are you alright?"

As Rose bends down to help me up, I respond, trying to keep all traces of sarcasm out of my voice, "You're right you should be sorry! Look at what you did to my skin," I finish, gesturing to my flawless, unscarred flesh.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't a good idea to rib her when she's helping me up, because I soon as I shut my big mouth, Rose drops me; I land with a thud. Jasper rolls his eyes at our odd banter, but quickly ignores our immature behavior.

Walter asks him, "What's the book called?"

"It's called 'the Book of Heroes.' How extraordinary," he muses, flipping through the pages, intrigued.

"Does it tell us how to get out?" Walter responds, practical as ever.

"This really is most remarkable. Everything we could possibly want to know about Heroes, and this place, is right here in these pages." Jasper shuts the book, straightens his back, points to the map, and finishes, "This map functions as a travelling mechanism. Simply choose where you want to go and, well, it should take you there."

"What's with you people and second-guessing yourselves? Can't you just learn to be confident?" I insist.

Ignoring me must be their favorite past-time, because just like before, my comment goes unanswered. Instead, Walter says, "Marvelous! Right, we can use that. Now, Raven, there's something I have to ask you."

Oh, I can already see where this is going; he's testing my loyalties, to see if I'll be willing to betray Logan. It's rather sad that he has to ask, considering I walked through a dark, mucky cave, permanently staining my boots for them. However, that's not what he asks.

Walter rubs his neck, shifting from one foot to the other as he says, "You know Logan best, so…what can you tell us about him? You know: strengths, weakness, and the like. I may have been his adviser, but he trusts and listens to you more than he has ever listened to me."

I note he says _trusts_ and _listens_ rather than _trusted_ and _listened_, and the present tense irks me. Does he honestly think that Logan _still_ trusts me, after what I did? Granted, he didn't see me slap Logan in the face, but I _did_. I can't stop replaying the deed in my head, watching my hand smack his face, leaving a five-fingered red print; my hand still tingles from the impact. Would _anyone_ be willing to trust or listen to someone who just _slapped_ them?

"Well… he doesn't like being hit, so watch out for that," I say tentatively, laughing nervously. Walter scowls, but doesn't rush me, something I'm thankful for.

You wouldn't know it by looking at me, given my deadpan, dry wit, but when I give my loyalty to someone, I'll never betray them. In fact, some people find my stubborn loyalty annoying. This moral gray area frustrates me, and I don't know who matters more to me right now.

With a strained sigh, I say, "Alright then, let's start with something we know, shall we? Let's see…as you know, Logan is extremely paranoid."

Frowns adorning their faces, they nod; I can see the memories flickering behind their eyes.

"Well…normally, any good rebellion would have a spy or two…but with Logan, I don't recommend doing that. He'll suspect even the most doggedly devoted men. This, of course, brings me to my next point: Logan is a genius. Do you want to know the reason that the trolls have become extinct? That was Logan's doing. Would you like the reason why some people still have money in Bowerstone Industrial, despite the high taxation and Reaver bleeding the city dry? That, too, is Logan's doing."

I can see that Walter and Jasper are contented with my logic. Rose, on the other hand, is unconvinced. "Are you _sure_ about that? I mean, he can't even beat me at chess, and I'm not that good."

I raise my brow at this and say, "You beat _Logan_ at chess? Are you sure? You don't have some fatal concussion, do you?"

Glowering, Rose crosses her arms and snaps, "Yes, I'm sure! You've played too, right? You're better than me when it comes to that kind of stuff."

"Yes, I have played him, several times…and I've lost several times…well, actually, I've lost _every_ time."

Confused, Rose stutters, "But t-that didn't…what about…h-he didn't, _w_-_wouldn't_…" For a moment, she says nothing, shell-shocked, and pleads at me with panicked eyes. As I smirk, amused, she shouts, "No! He did not just _let_ me win all those times!"

"Whatever you say, Rose," I mutter under my breath, "whatever you say."

To be fair, Rose isn't that bad in chess. The only thing that keeps her from getting better is her refusal to sacrifice pawns.

Walter coughs, points to the map, focusing our attention to it once again, and says, "We'll have plenty of time to explore this place later. Right now, we have a rather large task ahead of us."

With wide eyes, Rose scans the map and says, rankled, "But I don't even know where to _start_."

Snorting, I reply, "A place with people would be good…ouch!" I snap, rubbing the spot on my ribs where Rose jabbed me with her pointy elbow.

Walter ignores our behavior, as per usual, and says, "Our first stop will be the mountains of Mistpeak; there are some people there who would make great allies. They won't offer their allegiance easily, but they despise Logan. And if anyone can persuade them, it's a Hero."

With a stiff nod, Jasper says, "Very good, I will continue to become acquainted with this Sanctuary. No doubt, we will need to make full use of its facilities."

Walter grins and pats Jasper shoulder, saying, "Right, right then. Find Mistpeak on the map and let's see if that book's telling us the truth."

Bending over, Rose studies the map, her eyes landing on a giant snowy mountain I presume to be Mistpeak. At the very top of the mountains lies a little caravan labeled "Dwellers."

Jasper begins to speak, his voice pleasant and refined, "Now, that looks like the Dweller camp in Mistpeak, just there."

Just like with the seal, Rose stops her hand, as if the map will lash out and bite her. Then, oh so hesitantly, she lightly touches it and the caravan surrounds us in a bright blue light.

The only good thing I can say about this odd form of traveling is that after the first transportation, my body is accustomed to the jerking and pulling. As suddenly as it appeared, the blue light vanishes, leaving Walter, Rose, Xander, Knight, and me in the bitterly cold snow. We are secluded enough that I would wager that our sudden appearance was unseen, but close enough to the villagers that we can hear them, these so-dubbed "Dwellers." Scowling, I glare at the dirty snow, rumpling my brow, and just like in the cave I have an odd premonition. This time, though, I know what I'm waiting for and I almost laugh because of it. I'm simply waiting for Logan to soothe the wrinkles with his thumb, like he always does.

I hardly have time to sulk before I feel Xander's feathery body fly into me with a _thump_, struggling to stay warm. Knight looks cold, too, but his long, thick fur keeps most of the cold from getting to him.

Walter looks around for a second or two, and shouts, "It worked!" Wrapping his arms around his chest, shivering, he darts forward, trying to escape the cold. He mutters, "Brrr! I'd forgotten how bloody cold it is up here; come on."

We walk briskly past two crumbling snow covered pillars, unattended due to their lack of practical use, despite their historical significance. The path appears to be just like the pillars: snow piling up; an old, tattered flag, faded to the point where you can just barely make out its symbol; wooden and stone fences falling apart and crumbling, only standing by pure stubbornness. The caravans are rusted and old, the people thin and weak—even the children are begging for coins, to people who don't even have enough for themselves. It would be fair to say that the slushy dirt and snow mixture beneath their feet is richer then these people are.

Walter spreads his arms, gesturing to the people, and says, "The people here call themselves Dwellers. They're tough, they're loyal, and as I said earlier, _they hate Logan's guts_."

My green eyes scan the people. They look at Rose hungrily, as if she's some sort of goddess. Her neat, braided hair and bat gut-free clothing are obvious indicators of her wealth.

Walter continues talking, trying to sound chipper, despite the dark atmosphere. "Yep, it may not look like much, but this is where the revolution begins. This is what Logan has reduced them to: he's taken control of these mountains and started destroying its forests. I knew they'd have a hard time finding food, but I had no idea it was this bad."

At the end of the sloped path rests a red wooden gate. Unlike the dilapidated ruins of the previous fences, it's slightly more attended, and has an air of importance, if a bit worn and weary.

Glancing at the gate, Walter crosses his arms and says, "The man we need to convince is Sabine, a proud old sod, but a good man and a good leader. He won't give his allegiance easily, especially to princesses."

He pauses for a moment, pulling his beard, and then says, "Perhaps it's best if I first speak to him alone."

Smirking, I display two thumbs, and say, "Good plan."

Walter chuckles slightly. Frowning, as he eyes Rose up and down and says, "You know, maybe you ought to find some new clothes while I speak to Sabine. Something slightly less…regal; we don't need this kind of attention."

Bemused, Rose inspects her clothes, as if seeing them for the first time: the short, neat blue skirt; her dark blue leg warmers; her white blouse, climbing with an ivy pattern; and her brown corset, which brings the whole ensemble together. To the rich, this is a very practical outfit, easy to run or even fight in. To the Dwellers, on the other hand, it must seem as if she's the wealthiest woman alive.

Walter shoves his hand into his brown leather bag, pulls out two coin purses, and says, "I only have a little bit of gold, but it should be enough." Walter coughs awkwardly, rubs his neck, and adds, "And maybe you can spread what's left among the people…they need it more than we do."

I accept the coin purses as Rose furrows her brow, confused at Walter's uncharacteristic behavior.

"Where will I find some?" Rose asks; she stares at the pouch intensely, as if it is the greatest responsibility in the world. To a penniless princess, I suppose it is.

"Don't worry: someone will be willing to take those coins off your hands," Walter assures her.

Tossing the pouch in my new bag, I pull Rose by the collar, and shout back at Walter, "Alright, I'll find Miss Thing here her new clothes, and you'll go and talk to this 'Sabine.' See you in a few minutes."

I have barely dragged Rose a couple of feet when she shakes me off and snaps, "I can walk!"

Pouting, I complain, "But this is so much fun!"

"You have a strange definition of fun, Sister," Rose responds drily, brown eyes watching the snow-covered road.

"It's better than _yours_, Sister dearest!" I exclaim, winking mischievously. Suddenly, I feel the most annoying tugging at my leg.

Casting my green eyes downward, I find a little girl pulling on my legs, her snot covering my pants…_joy_. Children irritate me. Have no mistake, I'm fully aware the human race would die without them, they're the future and all that rubbish, but that doesn't mean I enjoy them. With their whining, crying, and complete inability to help themselves in any way, not to mention the snot, drool, and dirt that _always _finds its way on their clothes, they are simply nuisances. I have to use all of my self control to not scream at this kid to let go of my limb.

"Err…yes, small child, what is it?" _Why are you touching my leg?_

Her body trembling, she lifts a tiny rag doll in the air and says, "I-I'll trade you my doll for some food. She's really good, honest; her name's Sadie.

Rose's face softens, but I cannot understand the emotion she shows at this saccharine display. _Why would I want your doll, and_ _why is it named _Sadie_?_

Scratching my head, I say nonchalantly, "Rose, why don't you go and get something to wear? I'll talk to the b-I mean, kid."

Rose glances at me for a second, probably worried I'm going to snap at the brat, but, heaving a sigh, leaves, giving me pleading eyes. Crouching down to her level, I say, "How about this? My sister and I will just feed everyone here for free. How does that sound?"

She stares into my eyes for a moment, her big eyes watering, and then tackles me with a hug, her small arms crushing my ribs.

"Thank you, kind lady! Thank you, _so_ much!" the brat cries, rubbing snot onto my already-filthy clothes.

My arms hang awkwardly at my side, a disturbed expression on my face. I realize that, without a slight push of encouragement, the kid won't leave. Uncomfortable, I pat the creature on her back and choke out, "Yes, yes, small drooling child, everything will be alright. Now, if you would please let me go, I'll _gladly_ feed your village."

I pray fiercely that the child is too young to detect sarcasm. "Alright, nice lady!" she exclaims, and runs towards a caravan. Realizing some obscure faux pas, she pauses, spins around, and shouts, "Thank you again, nice lady!" Waiting for no response, she dashed off to a tired, pale, thin woman who appears to be her mother.

"Huh, nice lady," I muse under my breath. When the kid is out of earshot, I snort and follow the trail Rose has taken for the tailor.

I sneak behind Rose, and, when she isn't looking, creep up next to her and whisper in her ear, "_How's_ my favorite sister doing on her shopping?" I carelessly sling my arm around her.

She visibly jumps, turns her head, and hisses, "Don't _do_ that!"

"Rose, you see that?" I ask, leaning further into her, pointing at nothing in particular. "That's your skin, hanging _way_ up there."

Furious, Rose twists around, trying to sock me, but I turn with her, grab her other shoulder, and say in a sing-song voice, "No more than two, or a bruise for _you_!"

"Just think of that now, did you," Rose answers dryly, cooling down after her mini fit.

Gasping melodramatically, I exclaim, offended, "Why sister, of course I did! But you have yet to answer my question. Not that you need to respond, though. Your attire makes it blatantly obvious," I finish, gesturing to her new clothes.

She won't be mistaken for a princess; that is certainly not an issue. Rose is wearing a sleeveless fur-trimmed coat, belted with a blue scarf and wide leather belt; its large buckle sags awkwardly at her tiny waist. Matching fur-trimmed gloves and fur-trimmed boots add to the look, an ensemble of fur fanatic chic. Below her hips, she wears an outfit that seems more like something that I would throw on haphazardly; gone are any vestiges of the beloved beauty queen. Over a pair of bland brown trousers that are slightly too large, pooling at her feet, she wears a striped red skirt, its hem frayed.

It's an adequate outfit, and it serves its purpose well—even I hardly recognize Rose in this crazy collection of clothes. The only thing that I can't stand about her new threads is her bandana, a limp brown piece of cloth that perches meekly on her head, as if afraid to inconvenience its new owner. It doesn't help, either, that the item makes it appear as if she's bald. "Did the bandana eat your hair, or did you shave it off in celebration to your first buy?"

Rose glares at me and snaps irritably, "I'm hiding my hair. It's how people know me best."

Rose was indeed renowned around the castle for always wearing a braid, her signature form of styling. Even Mother, a woman who cared little for fashion, had been enamored of Rose's pretty plait. "Turn around," I demand, spinning my finger, indicating for her to twirl.

"Why?" Rose asks, staring at me suspiciously, and hugs her chest tightly.

Ignoring her question, I spin her around once, and then grip her shoulder and force her to a halt. After examining her clothes from the back, I sigh, and say, "No good, I still hate it. Ah, well, it is what it is."

"Hey Raven," Rose says, trying to turn her head to me; my iron grip prevents her from rotating. "Why aren't you getting new clothes?"

"I am…in Brightwall," I say pointedly, tugging at her bandana. In the end, I must concede to its ugliness.

"Why don't you get some here? I think they still have some extra."

"Alas, despite this pretty face, not even I can pull off the scruffy look," I say, spinning her around again. I fix her large buckle so that it no longer droops, and cuff her plain pants, not wanting their length to cause a fall if we have to bolt unexpectedly.

Rose raises an artfully plucked brown eyebrow and inquires dubiously, "So what does that mean about me?"

"Beautiful, gorgeous, et cetera; you can go ahead and add some other banal and technically meaningless comment here. Now that I've helped your self esteem, let's go and meet this Sabine character! If he's a friend of Walter's, he's either good at killing things, or he can handle his drink." I clap my hands together, happily twirl around, and start walking down the snow cover rood. Pausing for a moment, I look around and say, "Probably both."

Rose sighs dramatically and follows me, shaking her head as we go. After a short trek, we are back at the wooden gates, where Walter is pacing back and forth. The moment he spots Rose, though, he flashes a grin. "That's more like it. Uh, the scruffy look suits you," he adds as an afterthought, ignoring the smug look Rose shoots me. "I've spoken to Sabine, explained everything and he's…well, I told you he'd need some convincing. Come on, _both_ of you," he declares, just as I start to lean on the gate, deciding that I had better sit this one out.

"Me…her…_too_?" we say in unison, baffled.

As you have likely inferred, I'm neither the kindest nor most serious person around. Taking me into a conversation that could change the fate of Albion is…_not_ the wisest choice, to say the least. "Raven," Rose pleads as her brown eyes bore into me, "would you please not say anything, or do anything, sarcastic or rude or—just try not to say _anything_, honestly."

"This should be fun," I say, smirking, making Rose groan as we enter the small, slightly nicer, camp.

The first person we see is a giant of a man standing on some well-polished steps grunting down at us, glaring at us with his one good eye. As I'm about to comment on the size of the "Dweller chief," a strong, wild voice commands, "Out of the way, Boulder." The giant complies willingly, revealing an elderly twig of man, extremely out of place with the rough voice, sitting on a throne, his gnarled, blue-veined hands holding a staff. "I can't see a thing."

He's covered in gold, from his rings and large necklace, to the gold bracelets encasing both arms. Even, incredibly enough, his curly white mustache is littered with gold rings; three for each curl. His hat and shoes are ridiculous as well. A large feather adorns his hat, climbing towards the sky like a twisting tower, and his shoes curve towards his toes—for the love of God, they _curve_!

Eyeing this strange man, I have a sudden but fleeting urge to laugh at the fact that anyone thought _this_ freak was fit to rule these people. It is replaced, unfortunately, by white-hot rage. While he was dangling expensive jewelry from his facial hair, armored by baubles that weighed more than he did, these villagers were starving, even the children resorting to sell their playthings for the food that never came. It seems doubtful that Sabine will join us—why would he, when Logan was willing to turn a blind eye when he outfitted himself with fine gold instead of feeding his villagers? _He_ has absolutely _nothing_ to gain.

Shaking with anger, I prepare to tell this rich jerk where else he can stick his fancy rings—I would rather throw the revolution than cater to the whims of self-entitled men like him. Before I have the chance to open my big mouth, Sabine begins to speak, pushing off his throne with surprising strength. "So, royalty walks into our home; princess, no less. You're a long mile from the castle, princess." He slowly steps down from his pedestal, his feeble legs shaking. I notice how the word "princess" slips out of his lips like venom. "What do you think of our home, then? Do you two like what your brother has done to us?" I may just be paranoid, but it seems as if Sabine is staring at me oddly.

Sabine continues with his fiery speech, hunched and waving one arm. "The monitions have always been ours. Now Logan's taken them, and is stripping them of all life! Oh, we're ready to go to war, but why should we follow Logan's kin?"

"You can trust me," Rose says, determinately ignoring the slander of her brother. "You have my word."

Sabine snorts, slamming his staff down, and says, almost mockingly, "We don't take much stock in words round these parts. We're simple folk, ain't that right, Boulder?" Just as if he was further trying to enforce Sabine's point, Boulder grunts, confused.

Rose lifts her chin and says, "Then what do you want?"

Sabine gestured with his index finger for us to come closer. Hesitantly, we leaned forward, even Boulder beside me. Sabine says evenly, not secretive in the slightest, "Proof."

He stands erect, or, at least, back into his former crouch; my eyebrows shoot up at the action, but I say nothing, keeping my arms crossed and my mouth shut. But really; what was the point of all that?

Sabine appears to be speaking solely to Rose as he says, "First, prove you are truly as Walter claims, a Hero. This is easily done. There is a secret chamber beneath the town of Brightwall, built by your own mother." Rose smirks, eyebrow cocked. Perhaps she thought it fitting or ironic that just after we rummaged through mother's grave, she was going to explore her well-hidden chamber? I know I did.

Sabine doesn't even pause. "Only a Hero can survive its trials and reach the relic within." To my right, Boulder kneels in front of the barking Knight and begins to pet him. "Bring me one of these ancient objects and I will believe you. Second," Sabine says, holding up two fingers, "prove you are a warrior worthy of leading us into battle." At this point, Knight is licking Boulder's chest, making an incredibly distracting sound; even Rose glances over to see what is happening. "You can do this by slaying the mercenaries who plague Mistpeak Valley and who have long soured our existence! Third," he holds up three fingers now, and I wonder how stupid he thinks we are. "Prove you are a true leader. Persuade our neighbors in Brightwall to share what food they have with us." Sabine then pauses, sighs, his patience at an end, turns, and says, "Boulder!"

Boulder gives one of his signature grunts, and stands back up, glancing longingly at Knight. _Well_, I think, satisfied, _at least I don't look like a giant anymore_. Sabine continues talking, as if he was never interrupted. "If we cannot eat, we will die, and the dead make poor allies." _Huh. I suppose it would have been too much trouble to pawn a few rings for some food. Then again, I wouldn't want to wear a ring that doubled as an ornament for some old guy's mustache. _

Rose is about to say something, when suddenly, Sabine turns his stubborn eyes to me and says, "So you're the princess Walter talked about—funny, I don't remember the Old Hero Queen ever having a third child."

Sabine squints and leans forward on his cane. Trying to appear nonchalant, I cross my arms, shrug my shoulders, and say, "Perhaps you should update your information, then."  
>Clearly he doesn't believe me, but that doesn't concern me. However, I <em>am<em> worried that is Rose becoming suspicious of why he didn't even _know_ of my existence. I can understand why mother never informed Sabine; with my biological mother dead, it would have looked as if she was cheating on the King. I can't, though, understand why Logan would never reveal the truth. It would have been a great political move, honoring the decision of the past Queen and saving an orphan. Considering how young he was when mother died, he needed as much support as he could get. In fact, I can only think of one reason to explain his actions…but now is not the time to ponder this mystery, not when Rose's potential ally is scrutinizing me.

With a loud _thump_, Sabine slams his cane onto the ground and snaps, "Well, whoever you are, don't think you'll get off so easily; you have to do some work to do for us."

A frown settles across my lips, anchoring my expression. However, I'm quick to compose myself; I modify it to a smug smile as I correct, "Excuse me, but I believe that you're confusing me with my sister. You know, she's the one _actually_ trying to be queen? As for me…" with an impish grin on my face, I shrug "…I'm just here to smile and look pretty, something I do exceedingly well, by the way."

Groaning, Rose buries her face in her palms, but I can't help but feel she's being melodramatic. I haven't offended anyone yet. The Dweller chief spares Rose from her mortification, ignoring my last comment. He replies curtly, "I don't care if you're trying to be Queen of the rocks—you lived with Logan, so you must work for our trust."

Sighing, I roll my eyes, doing my best to hold my tongue. I place my hands on my hips and respond irritably, "What do you need of me?"

At this comment, Rose squeezes her eyes shut so tightly I'm afraid her head will explode from sheer frustration. Brown eyes squinted in suspicion; Sabine states abruptly, "Just like your sister, you're to do three tasks for us. First," he has returned to finger-counting, "you're to kill twelve wolves and bring back their corpses; the hunting ban shouldn't bother _you_." The malice in his voice stings me, but his words are indicators of the cause of his village's poverty. Without the ability to hunt, there is no food, and due to the bandits on their roads, there is no way to buy or sell goods. This formula leaves nothing but former nomads with a huge collection of gold and no way to spend it.

"There are two traders who used to give us supplies. For a reason they've stopped providing us with them. Discover the traders' reasons and convince them to start granting materials again.

"Finally…" What does he want now? Do I need to shave his back? "…one of the only safe places to get water is in a cave. For some reason, the water is becoming rancid. Find out why."

_Someone up there really hates me don't they?_ I muse, bitter. My skin is clammy and, if possible, the already-godforsaken low temperatures have dropped. Fortunately, before Sabine notices my shaken state, Rose interrupts, "Is that all?"

Although visibly surprised by the abruptness of the statement, Sabine does not comment on it. He conjures a cigar from nowhere, chomps on it, and says, mouth burdened by tobacco leaves, "Yep, that's the lot. Off you go then, good luck. Nice knowing you." He laughs heartily.

Knight barks happily, sensing the end of his boredom. Confirming the suspicions of the strident four-legged beast, Rose encourages him, "Come on boy!"

Following their lead, I hastily retreat from the Dwellers throne; Xander still snuggles beside me for warmth.

Walter still stands where left him, his expression surprisingly serene. I bet that he probably knew exactly what happened at that meeting, that calm jerk.

"It's nice to see Sabine hasn't mellowed with age," he remarks, grinning.

"Glad to see you're enjoying yourself," I reply dryly, face blank. "Did you know what he was going to ask?"

He grimaces. Observing my uncharacteristically solemn mood, he admits, "I was going to warn you, but unfortunately, you two took too long to get here in time. What in blazes were you doing anyway?"

"Being stupid, that's what," Rose gripes, glaring at me weakly. If I don't stop her now, I have a feeling she'll try to trade our assignments.

"And with that, I'm off," I say, beginning the path down the road. I don't stop until Rose calls me.

"Raven, will you wait for me? Where are you going?" Rose yells, almost colliding into me as she rushes to catch up.

Jerking my head to the caravan, I calmly remark, "They are selling bullets over in that store, and I'm in a desperate need of some. Unlike _someone_ I know, I'm not so foolish as to give my coin away while I'm trying to start a rebellion."

Rose subconsciously pats her depleted coin purse, practically whispering, "They need help."

"Yes, well, I suppose not everyone's as perfect as me. Don't be stupid and spend money when you get to Brightwall, yes?"

Soundlessly, Rose offers her hand, sisterly love for someone who you've never lived without. For the tiniest of moments, I'm too moved speak. Soon, my usual cocky grin reappears on my face as I grip her hand in mine, and practically sing joyfully, "Well then, let's go start a rebellion."

Every day for years now, I've sat on this throne, listening to petty squabbles. Yet every time my back rests against the silk throne, every time the golden crown sits atop my head, every time I hear a useless idea, I am given a new understanding of complete and utter boredom.

Reaver prattles on about some new and highly amoral schema of his, not stopping for a breath or to read the ever-souring mood. Why does he always talk so much? He knows I'll always agree to what he says, because it makes the most money. Does he love his voice that much? What am I saying? It's Reaver, of course he does.

Thankfully, the plan, strangely, isn't nearly as horrible as I first assumed. Not that this plan is, by any means, normal or morally right, but compared to what's normally coming out of his sick little mouth, this is almost tame. Then, a pair of bright blue eyes meets my own, and I know who has convinced Reaver to forgo his plan.

A seemingly young, short, Samarkand woman, Sophia is Reaver's personal maid and, despite her youthful appearance, has been with the deviant longer than I've been alive. Cool and calm, and forever solemn, she is a complete contrast to Reaver's sarcastic, narcissistic, loud-mouthed personality. The two seem opposite in almost every aspect, yet Sophia is more like a shadow then a person, always by his side, always watching, but almost never talking.

Amazingly enough, this woman has the power to deflect the worst of Reaver's plots, normally pointing out the small amount of coin it, _might,_ cast…neither of them have brought up the fact that, no matter how cheap it is, any plan requires money.

"And that, your most gracious majesty, is why it's both cruel and unnecessary to give the orphanage in Bloodstone any more of the crown's hard earned cash," Reaver finishes finally, giving me his most 'charming' smile.

Shifting in my seat, I grumble, bored, "Let it be known that, as of today, the Bloodstone orphanage will stop receiving donations from the crown." No matter how much it needs it.

The crowd boos, impressive, considering I barely have the energy to stand. As the guards lead them out, the rich and noble quickly take their places. Almost as if I was hosting a party, they arrive in droves. Thankfully, Sophia, feeling merciful, approaches me, making all the cowardly nobles flee, her permanent scowl driving them back.

She struts towards, her short black hair moving as she walks, the dyed aqua strand flopping in her eye. Finally she stands before me, more like someone of from royalty than a maid.

"Your majesty," she greets, her voice monotone and blunt, yet not impolite. She's a rare person who doesn't find the need to try to worship me 24/7; personally, it's a welcome change.

"Sophia, I suppose you are to thank for Reaver's change of heart." Not that he has one.

"Yes, don't ask what his 'brilliant' idea was this time." I hadn't planned to. Then, I notice her lack of attention, and that her gaze is focused on a man in an overly bright and colorful coat.

Not that I mind; just as I am using her, she is using me to get a closer look at that man. About the only thing the duo share is a love for fashion. I'd bet you anything that if Sophia had her way, she would be wearing the finest dresses with the best shoes, but practicality wins in the end, and she is forced to wear tight black overalls, a white blouse, and heeled shoes.

Sophia and Reaver appear to have a game: pick a target, and find out who designed their clothes first. The apparent winner is Reaver.

And like my thoughts summand him Reaver practically appeared from thin air practically singing, "Elsa Schiaparelli."

Letting out a very unladylike curse, Sophia spins around, glaring menacingly at the tall man. His appearance changed little from this morning, apart from his hair. It is no longer slicked back, but rather, it's now parted.

"My, my," he says, an annoying grin on his face, "such language, kitten. You wouldn't want everyone to see your fangs too soon, would you?"

Taking a deep breath, Sophia utters, "Reaver?"

"Yes?" he responds, innocent as a child.

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me 'kitten'?"

He seemed to consider it, but then retorted, "Well I'm not sure. How many times have you asked?"

She takes another deep breath, "Over 9,000, Reaver."

In amazement, Reaver cries out, "Isn't _this_ exiting news!"

"No," she tries to interrupt, but Reaver's already off.

"We should have a party!"

"No."

"We'd have a scrumptious cake!"

"No."

"And plenty of…pleasant company."

"NO!"

"Is there something you wanted?" I snap, annoyed with the useless prattling.

"Not really," Reaver replies, chipper, ecstatic to have dampened my mood. "Well then…"

"…good-bye," Sophia finishes, dragging the irritating deviant with her.


End file.
